


The Shift of Stars and Sun

by carmenta



Category: Lions of Al-Rassan - Kay
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:19:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interlude in Ragosa - of horses, hammers and winter campaigns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shift of Stars and Sun

Ammar ibn Khairan of Aljais, the man who had assassinated the last khalif of Al-Rassan and the king of Cartada, who had composed poems worthy of eternal memory, who had forsaken his position to maintain his honour, looked with some dismay at the hammer and nails in his hands.

"What am I to do with those?" he asked.

The question earned him a somewhat incredulous look from the man who had handed him the tools and who shared his notoriety, even without two regicides to his name.

"Either you use those, or I'll make you do the heavy lifting," Rodrigo Belmonte told him matter-of-factly, then stalked back into the mayhem of what had been a warehouse until this morning. Since then, the bales of wool had been removed, wooden boards had been carted in by the wagonload, and a selection of the best Jaddite mercenary company was now busily setting up improvised stables.

Ammar followed him in, more out of curiosity than because he felt threatened. From the looks of it, the lifting had been done already anyway.

He was not entirely certain yet what was going on. There had been a hasty message in the morning about the stables being damp, but that hadn't seemed so serious. He had been disabused of that notion when an annoyed Rodrigo had collected him at noon, dragged him here and stuffed carpentry tools into his hands.

"Aren't there enough men already?" he asked, catching up with the Jaddite at the far end of the building.

"Half of them have to go on patrol soon, and another third was on night watch," came the answer. "And most of those who are here now have been at work since morning already. They need a rest, and I need more hands."

"I am sure there are enough willing workers in the marketplace," Ammar said, stepping aside quickly when Rodrigo went past him, a long wooden board over his shoulder.

"There are. But I would rather make use of my own resources first." Rodrigo set the board down, then pointed at a post. "There. You hammer, I'll hold it in place. And make sure that the nails don't stick out, or the horse might injure itself."

"I know how to hammer a nail," Ammar countered, somewhat indignant.

"Wonderful. Of course, given how much Badir pays you, I would have counted on it anyway. Your reputation calls for very thorough qualifications." Rodrigo moved the board into place and held it straight, looking at him expectantly.

Ammar hesitated for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. "I didn't go into exile to become a carpenter," he muttered, but set to work.

The first improvised stall went up surprisingly quickly, and the second as well. Rodrigo shed his shirt after the third, which had nothing to do with Ammar missing the nail and taking a glancing blow to his hand immediately afterwards. They traded places then, which gave Ammar time to contemplate the possible literary portrayal of the sight before him while he held the boards in place. Unfortunately it most likely wasn't a subject suited to courtly poetry, he decided after a while, no matter how enticing.

They took another little break after the fourth, then helped Alvar and Martin to finish their stall. By that time Ammar was quite willing to admit that he had no wish to come close to another hammer in his life. Or unpolished, splintery wood, for that matter.

Mercifully, after that last stall their work was over. Rodrigo made him wait while he organized the transfer of straw, hay and horses into their new stable, then they left together for a much-needed glass of wine.  


***

Removing splinters from his hands proved to be even more unpleasant than Ammar recalled from childhood years. It wasn't so much the pain – that was hardly worth mentioning – but the one-handed fiddling. That, and the awareness that Rodrigo did not share that particular problem because he had been smart enough to wear an old set of leather gloves. If it hadn't been for his bone-deep physical exhaustion, Ammar might have resented him for that foresight. The way it was, he just shot the gloves a mildly annoyed glance before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. Then he winced when his shoulders and back protested at being put into such a position.

"A bath would help," Rodrigo suggested helpfully, refilling his wine cup and handing it back to him.

Ammar graced him with a brief look, then shut his eyes again. "A bath would require walking down all those stairs." He sighed and shook his head. "I can last through hours of sword practice. I should not feel like this."

"Fencing strains other parts of your body." He heard the scrape of a chair against the floor, then felt hands on his shoulders. "You did well. A reward may be in order."

Ammar managed a more interested look, but he couldn't quite muster enough enthusiasm for what he assumed Rodrigo was suggesting. Bed was tempting, but he felt more inclined towards sleeping than any other activities.

Looking down at him, Rodrigo arched an eyebrow. "Flattering, but not what I had in mind," he said with a slow smile that somehow failed to reach his eyes. "I was thinking of something less private. Practical matters."

"Practical." That word had been used far too often today, mostly in connection with the placement of support beams and latches.

"Practical," Rodrigo confirmed, patting his shoulder. Something had changed in his voice, the light mood gone and replaced by something darker.

"Do I have reason for concern?" Ammar asked. He could tell that Rodrigo did not like having to bring this up now.

"That would depend on whether you fear a winter campaign," Rodrigo said.

Ammar looked up at him, seeing the seriousness he had heard in the other man's voice now in his eyes as well. "So Badir has finally decided that we are too dangerous to be kept in Ragosa together, with so much idle time."

"I imagine he wants to get his money's worth." A final pat, then Rodrigo stepped away from Ammar and went to look out the window. There wasn't much to see anymore; night had fallen hours ago already, and the moon had not yet risen. He looked out into the darkness. "Bandits," he said. "Not what I was hoping for, but it's only to be expected."

"Of course," Ammar agreed, rising from his chair too. Muscles twinged in protest, and he decided he would have that bath after all. But later.

He came to stand at Rodrigo's side, looking out into the night with him. He thought of the morning, when all that had concerned him had been minor matters, horses and hammers and wooden planks. It would all change now that they'd do what they were here for. He'd waited for it, almost wished that the idle time would not last forever. But this campaign would end something, and Ammar was not certain that he was willing to let go of the time in Ragosa just yet.

"When do we ride?" he asked.

Rodrigo didn't answer immediately. He'd have known all day, Ammar thought. And yet he had concerned himself with the new stables, even when they might not be needed after all. There was no certainty that they would be coming back.

"Three days," Rodrigo said eventually. "Maybe sooner if we can get accurate information that quickly."

Ammar nodded, not saying anything. He knew he didn't have to.

Something would come to an end once they rode out. It remained to be seen just what it would be. Perhaps only the idleness, or perhaps not even that if the campaign went fast. Maybe that would be all. Maybe.

_Even the sun goes down_, he thought the words he had heard Rodrigo say in the past. _And the stars will always wander._


End file.
